


A Rather Practical Joke

by Darklady



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meaningless, silly, fluffy... and with no plot what so ever.<br/>In other words... me doing Wodehouse. (Poorly!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rather Practical Joke

“A letter sir. From Reverend Pinker.” Jeeves held out the burnished tray. “Not trouble, I hope.”

“Merely a desperate plea that I rush out to… how should one pronounce this? Pen-man-war, do you think?”

“Penmaenmawr, sir,” Jeeves corrected easily. “I believe the name is Welsh.“

“Right ho, Jeeves.” Bertie turned up the desk lamp, seeking materiel enlightenment given that the pen scratching offered little by way of intellectual e. “Stinker requires my strong right arm to rescue him from …” Bertram Wooster held out the page. “Give it a look, Jeeves. Does that say goblins or golfers?”

“Most improbable, either way, sir.” None the less, he obediently accepted the document.

“Especially as I saw him lunching at the Drones. Also, while the missive came today?” Bertie gave a nod at the wrinkled envelope remaining on the table. “You may note the cancellation date.”

“Ah. April 1st. Well spotted, sir.” Jeeves folded envelope and letter together before discarding the pair. 

“To which I add the detail that Mrs. Stinker owes me ten pounds from her ill-advised backing of Golden Angel to place in the fifth last Saturday.”

“I see, sir. The choice of Penmaenmawr being thus a case of… “

“Please Jeeves!”

“I was going to say a Freudian _lapsus linguae_.”

“Well phrased.” Bertie clicked off the light. “The only thing Welsh in this matter is Stephanie’s pocketbook.”

“Presumptuous as it might be, one finds oneself inclined to deplore such trends in a lady… as it were… of the cloth.”

“Deplore away, my man. I was deploring her when she was still a Miss Byng, and – with due respect to the poet Kipling – in her case marriage has mended nothing.”

“So I will not be packing for a sudden rush to the north?”

“Ah contraire, my man.” Bertie reached for his cane. “You must send for the car at once! It is universally known to man and Drone that – to the Wooster soul – the plea of an old school chum is a sacred duty!”

“Even when said duty will require a week or more of motoring over mountainous back roads with little expectation that the supposed victim will be present when you arrive?”

“A week each way, sharing cramped beds in tiny, remote Inns which offer but a single guest room. Forced, you understand, to huddle together under a single duvet to escape the harsh chill of the Irish Sea. ” Bertie leaned close to his man. 

Jeeves bent into the kiss. “I shall pack at once, sir.”

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©KKR 2013


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